


Too Much Too Late

by AliceInKinkland



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst, Angst and Porn, Community: femslash_minis, F/F, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time when she would have loved to see B fallen like this, but she’s not that chick anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much Too Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarpedMinded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarpedMinded/gifts).



> For femslash_minis round 122, for warpedminded, who wanted Buffy/Faith in a prison AU and the prompts _protector_ , _jealously_ , and _gifts_. I ended up turning prison AU into a “what if Buffy had turned herself in for (supposedly) killing Katrina in Dead Things?” AU.

When Faith hears some girl telling her friend about a new arrival who’s white and blonde and looks like a valley girl and apparently beat a woman to death in a park in some small town and then immediately turned herself in, Faith stops folding newly-washed jumpsuits and walks over to the two of them until she’s all up in the first girl’s face.

“What’s her name?” says Faith, keeping her hands at her sides but balling them into fists in readiness.

“Woah,” says the girl’s friend. “What’s your problem?”

“This girl—what’s she called?” asks Faith again. She feels her heart pounding, and chooses to pretend it’s only from anger and the adrenaline of a possible fight.

“Summers. Buffy Summers, I think,” says the girl, “and what a fucking stupid name, right? But y’know, she’s pretty cute? Not saying I’d tap that for sure, but—”

Faith slams her hands down on the washer on either side of the girl’s body, trapping her between hard metal and Faith’s anger. She doesn’t flinch, but her friend does.

“Don’t touch her. Make sure everyone knows that.”

“Why—you want her all to yourself?”

“I want her safe from girls like you,” says Faith, which is half of the truth. The only half she wants to get into right now.

* * *

With the amount of time she’s spent thinking about B, it’s funny how much Faith hates seeing her now. But there she is—in the caf every meal, in the yard every afternoon. Buffy seems…different, some combination of lost and grimly determined that Faith doesn’t like the look of at all.

There was a time when she would have loved to see B fallen like this, but she’s not that chick anymore.

Faith’s been doing so well, being far away from B—keeping to herself, thinking real hard, starting way fewer fights than she did when she first got in. Suddenly, that’s harder. Buffy makes her think about sharp things—knives in stomachs, yes, but also stakes in beating hearts, shallow cuts with ragged glass against skin againagainagain. Since Buffy got here, Faith spends all her free daytime hours working out and her nights touching herself until she’s raw and never coming. She can’t, not now that her biggest fantasy, her biggest fear, is not just in her brain anymore, but actually in the building.

Faith tries not to hate B harder, or want her more, for the way her muscles and her brain and her clit keep aching harder than she remembered is possible.

* * *

“Hi,” says Buffy, shuffling from foot to foot with her hands in her pockets. They’re in the yard, and it’s bright and a bit chilly, and B’s wrapped her jacket tightly around herself. Faith’s is hanging open, because Massachusetts winter this ain’t.

“Hey,” says Faith, because this had to happen sooner or later. Maybe B’s gonna punch her. Maybe she’s gonna tell her to stay away. Maybe she’s gonna say something that’ll twist them both up in their guts and their hearts. There’s a lotta ways they could screw this whole thing up even more than it is already, is what Faith’s saying.

“How have you been?” ventures Buffy.

Faith shrugs. “OK. Been doing some thinking. Working through shit.” Faith hates this. She hates feeling like she has to prove she’s becoming a better person, and she hates that she probably is but just can’t bear talking about it. She hates that she isn’t sure what’ll happen the next time Angel comes to visit her, how she’ll possibly explain all that to B.

“That’s…I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t really expect you’d stay.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Sorry.” B won’t look at her. She’s got the same expression she has every time Faith sees her now—that thinly-veiled desperation.

“How’re you?” asks Faith after a pause so long she can’t deal with not filling it.

“I died,” says Buffy, like it’s a joke, but Faith can tell it’s not. “I died and Willow brought me back. And then—well, then I killed someone by accident.”

“I heard.”

“So I haven’t really been doing so well,” says B, and Faith enjoys the brief moment of honesty that passes between them before Buffy laughs (and it’s so, so hollow) and adds, “but like, hey, I’m not a zombie, which was probably a risk. I’m alive and breathing and not feeling any brain-eaty urges. So I can’t complain. I’m five by five.” Another thin smile.

And damn, the twist in Faith’s gut is kicking in, barely two minutes into their conversation. Great.

“Faith, I—” says B, like she knows she’s supposed to say something but doesn’t know what. Faith’s reminded of her high school guidance counsellor, a woman straight out of university who gave Faith printouts about anger management and a bunch of utterly irrelevant reasons not to drop out and told her how inspired she was to be working in the inner city. Faith hates all the therapy-word bullshit that everyone keeps telling her goes along with redemption. She doesn’t think in words like that. That’s not what this all feels like for her.

B leans closer, and Faith gets ready for a fight. She’d rather they punch each other out than do this talking-not-talking, if it comes down to it. B leans closer still. She raises her eyebrows, and Faith nods like she knows what’s going on, and then Buffy presses her lips against Faith’s, and Faith’s so surprised she doesn’t pull back right away, lets her lips respond for a few seconds before she pushes Buffy off her.

“Dumbass,” she hisses, pressing Buffy against the chain-link fence that borders the yard with a palm to her shoulder. “Fuck, B, are you trying to get us in trouble?”

“Oh, I, I mean—don’t people do that here?”

“Not where everyone can see you. Look around—we’re wicked exposed.” Faith spreads her arms, gestures at the concrete and fencing of the yard. She’s so angry it takes her a minute to realize that Buffy basically just confirmed that she wants to fuck. Judging from the state B’s in, it’s probably not for very good reasons, but Faith’s not enough of a saint yet to let that stop her. Not when her whole body is screaming at her to make this happen any way she can.

“Tell you what,” says Faith, trying to think of favours she could cash in on the quick, “Tonight, after dinner, around 7:30, go to the broom closet near the smaller washroom. If I can find us a lookout I’ll be there too.”

B looks like she wants to say more, but Faith brushes past her and heads to the other side of the yard, where she drops and starts doing pushups. Her body feels dangerously wired, all sparks looking for a reason to start a fire, so she does rep after rep until she can barely move her arms.

* * *

When Faith slips into the closet, she finds B already there, huddled up on the ground in the shadows. When she sees Faith she rises and goes straight for her, pulling her into a bruising kiss that leaves Faith wondering at how often she’s imagined this and how little all her stupid fantasies compare.

Faith pulls away. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes,” she tells Buffy, and B nods and begins unbuttoning Faith’s jumpsuit. Faith does the same with Buffy’s, allowing herself to grasp B’s breasts for a moment before moving her hands further south. She wants to give B more than this—why couldn’t they have done this years ago, back in Sunnydale, back when the two of them had even fewer words to describe this thing between them?

It is what it is, though, so Faith spits on her fingers and slips her hand into Buffy’s panties. She’s wet already, thank fuck, and the thought of B thinking about this as she waited in the dark—the thought of B getting turned on thinking of Faith at all—is enough that Faith feels her arousal pooling between her legs as well.

“So what’s it gonna be? You like fingers up inside you, just on your clit, what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Goddammit, B, we don’t have all day here.” _I wish we did,_ Faith doesn’t say. _I wish we had hours and hours for me to get to know your body, wish this could be the kind of gift I want to give you, but I guess we gave that up when we started killing people, huh?_

“Maybe two fingers? And one on my…”

Faith needs no further instruction. Her fingers slide in easily, and she smirks at the way Buffy’s muscles clench around her as she begins to thrust. She lets her other hand slip into Buffy’s clothing as well and begins rubbing B’s clit, enjoying the way she pulls her closer, nails digging into Faith’s ass as she grinds against Faith’s hands.

B starts gasping, and Faith hopes she’s close. She traps B’s mouth with hers to muffle any sound she might make, and keeps her rhythm steady, guiding Buffy to orgasm. Faith feels B’s nails dig in even harder and her teeth bite down on Faith’s bottom lip as she comes, and it’s hotter than Faith has ever imagined it would be.

There’s a knock on the door. Buffy looks panicked, but before Faith can think of what to say or do she hears the voice of Dobson, their lookout. “Better come out now,” she says, “Just to be safe. Guards are doing a sweep.”

Faith slips out, leaving Buffy to do the same thirty seconds later. She heads straight for an empty bathroom stall where she manages to make herself come for the first time in weeks.

* * *

She sees Buffy the next day at breakfast, same worn expression on her face, and she nods at her and Buffy smiles like she’s forgotten how. Faith feels the twist in her gut tighten further. She can tell this won’t be good for either of them. She’s wanted to touch B for so long, but she never wanted it like this.


End file.
